


Perfect Isn't A Real Word

by Kiwifruitjuice



Category: Avengers
Genre: Anxiety, Body Dysphoria and such, But Bucky already thinks he's perfect, Depression possibly, Eating Disorders, M/M, Negligence, Sexuality Confusion, Some Fluff, Steve Rogers doesn't take care of himself, Steve wants to be perfect, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:15:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwifruitjuice/pseuds/Kiwifruitjuice
Summary: "I just want to be perfect, Bucky. Be what everyone wants America's Hero to be.""Stevie," Bucky sighs. "You don't have to be perfect for you to be a good man, or a good hero.""Maybe."





	Perfect Isn't A Real Word

"I just want to be perfect, Bucky. Be what everyone wants America's Hero to be." 

"Stevie," Bucky sighs. "You don't have to be perfect for you to be a good man, or a good hero."

"Maybe."

 

~

 

Steve stared down at the perfect white plate, a fine china Tony made sure to order whenever someone, eventually, broke a piece of cutlery. The food placed on top, some expensive Chinese delegacy Tony found online, looked fancy and slightly gross. 

Steve blinked and felt his nerves tighten. Scrapes and light conversation surrounded the table. His teammates were idly chewing, loudly, Steve might add, and talking about the latest mission. 

A perfectly shined fork twirled in Steve's fingers, his big fingers, without touching the food. 

Steve jumped when Natasha nudged his arm. He looked up at her, and frowned at her annoyed look. 

"Forks are meant for picking food up, you know," Clint threw out, gnawing on god-knows-what-that-is. 

Steve's throat went hot, another annoying thing his body, his new body, did whenever he was embarrassed. He heard Tony choke on his food a little, then make a back-handed comment. 

Steve's stomach did flips. Natasha shushed the two and turned back to Steve. 

"You good, Rogers?" She asked. Steve trusted Natasha the most out of the group, an opinion he often wondered if it was warranted, but he wasn't willing to admit he didn't want to eat, even to her. 

"I'm good." 

Steve's voice came out smoothly. Confident. He'd learned how to give a steady voice from all the years of ordering people around and the, god awful, acting career he once had, if you can call it that. 

It came to no surprise to Steve when everybody nodded and continued on eating. 

 

~ 

 

"You need to eat, Steve." 

"I eat all the time, Bucky," Steve sighed. He was lying lazily on the couch, with a heavy blanket over his body and a grouchy frown on his face. 

"You eat, but you don't enjoy it," Bucky snapped. He walked over to Steve and stood in front of him, blocking the show Steve wasn't really watching. 

"And that means?" 

"When you eat, you have this look on your face that says 'I'd rather be doing anything else than this' and it freaks me out." 

Bucky runs a hand through his long, shaggy hair. "If something's really wrong, you'd tell me, right?" 

"Of course." 

Bucky stared at him, then shook his head. "I know you better than anyone, and I know something's wrong. But if you won't tell me, at least humour me and keep that look off your face? It kills me." 

Steve licked his lips. "Sure, Buck." 

 

~ 

 

Steve was spending a god-awful amount of time looking in the mirror lately. It wasn't that he was sad with how he looked, or felt, but something always felt off.   
His body just felt, well, big. Big and strong, and tough and bulky. Sometimes, when he stood next to people, he felt freakishly tall. He'd spend many years craning his neck up to look people in the face, and looking down made him feel weird.

His thighs were huge and muscly, and his arms were too large, he thought. His cheeks were defined, but not like they were before. Before, they defined weakness and sick, now they defined muscle and sharp bone. 

Steve didn't really get why he was upset, at least sometimes, about his new body. It's what he had asked for, wasn't it? A body to help him defend the right, and save his best friend? 

Steve's eyes scanned the body that barely fit in the small mirror. He quickly averted his gaze and shut off the light, before walking out of the bathroom. 

Steves stomach was rolling as he stridded towards the meeting room. For the first time in a while, he wondered what it felt like to like your body. 

 

~ 

 

Steve had hated his old body. It was always sick, always small and demanding of medicine his family could never afford. It was frail and weak, and when he was told he could have a body he had only dreamed off, he was amazed.

He had enjoyed his new body when it was being used to save Bucky. When it was used to help civilians survive, he was thankful he got such an amazing opportunity.

But when he wasn't saving Bucky, or saving anyone, really, he felt like he didn't need his body. Like it was going to waste. Like someone else could be using it better instead of being shoved with food. 

Steve felt like his body needed to much food all the time. He was always hungry. He had been told the serum caused his body to need more food than normal, but it was too much. 

So he'd been cutting back lately. He felt fine, and he was damn well enough to fight, so he didn't see Bucky's panic. 

He was fine. 

 

~ 

 

"Steve?" 

Steve looked up from his notepad. It was scribbled with notes and idle drawings, most of which were unrelated to the topic. 

"Yes?" 

"I'm worried about you, Steve." Natasha sat down next to him, the rolling chair digging into the plush carpet. 

"Oh? What for?" Steve asked. He started chewing on his pencil, then quickly stopped. He wondered how his old teeth would have handled hard wood. 

"You just seem out of it, lately. Anything on your mind?" Natasha's face was blank, as it usually was. 

"Not really." 

Steve was slightly concerned how easy lying had become for him. He prided himself on being an honest man, and he he himself hated liars. 

Natasha studied him carefully. Steve's cheeks were a little more caved than sharp, and his eyes were wary and tired. 

"Okay," Natasha said slowly. She stood and briskly walked out of the room, leaving behind a confused Steve. 

Steve licked his dry lips, that were strangely cracked, and watched her go. He wasn't sure why he felt nervous, but he ignored his feelings, like he had been doing lately.

Steve's mind whirled with possibilities of how he could be more honest, without telling the whole truth. But isn't that still lying? 

Steve slowly, carefully, tucked away his pad and pencil. He sat, alone, in the break room for a while, thinking. 

 

~ 

 

"I'm just fine, Bruce." Steve was irritated, and mostly annoyed. 

"Bullshit," Bucky muttered. Steve stared up at Bucky in surprise. 

"Something's the matter with you. You think I don't see you throwing away food? Or staring at yourself in the mirror all day?" Bucky snapped. His voice was low and rumbley, what it did when he was worried. 

"Is that true, Steve?" Bruce's voice was quiet, as it always was, but it was concerned. 

Steve swallowed, and his neck went red again. His stomach did more flips when he saw Bucky look at it, and he suddenly hated his body even more. 

"Stevie," Bucky lost his angry tone. He sighed and reached over to pat Steve's shoulder. "I just want you healthy and safe, okay?" 

Steve didn't get it. He didn't get the odd feeling he had towards his friend, his life-long friend. They were less than innocent, and he hated it. 

Steve wasn't against gay people, but he was raised to marry a woman and bare children and have a family. And when he started being Captain America, that seemed to go out the window. And topping that cake with feelings for another man, much more his best friend, made him feel sour. 

Steve wanted a family. He wanted a home to go to, and a partner who loved him, and he did want children. And having this body, a body a perfect fit for that, made him want that more.

Yet he here was. No partner, no family, no kids. It was almost like he was wasting this body, wasting an opportunity he couldn't have with his old body. He didn't regret changing his body, but he just couldn't seem to let go of his old one. 

"Steve?" Bruce asked quietly. Steve snapped out of his thoughts and realized his vision was blurry. 

"You okay, bud?" Buckys voice was so comforting, and so familiar, and Steve just wanted to be alone with his drawings right now. 

"You shouldn't stop eating, Steve. Your body needs all the food it can get to function," Bruce added.

Somehow, that made Steve feel worse. 

 

~ 

 

Steve didn't feel fat. He was happy with his weight. It was more that he felt big, physically and emotionally. And cutting some food out seemed to make him feel smaller, so he did that. 

But Steve was starting to feel the effects. It started as cutting out snacks or surgery drinks, but then it just ended up that he was skipping meals or not drinking anything but a few cups of water a day. 

He was feeling weaker. He was still strong, capable, but after just an hour of working out, he was winded and sweating. He felt smaller, maybe weaker.

If he was honest, he was happy with that. 

 

~ 

 

He couldn't stop staring at Bucky. Even after all this, Hydra and the torture and the medal arm, Steve still found him handsome. He was quieter now, more reserved, he let his hair hide his face often, but Steve found it charming. 

Steve had trouble talking to him like he used too. He loved to banter with his friend, but everytime he saw Bucky, and remembered how he finally had his friend back, he seemed to go quiet and awkward.

Bucky had definitely noticed it, and Steve hoped he didn't catch on to Steve's feelings. 

Although, it seemed Bucky was more concerned with Steve's health. Steve still felt fine, if not more sweaty and sticky. 

He ignored Bruce's warnings. He wasn't dead, and he felt more in tune with his old body than ever. And he wanted it that way. 

 

~

 

Steve lurched over and gripped the bucket in his hands as he vomited. Bruce was patting his shoulder blades assuringly. Bucky was holding his cheek carefully, to avoid vomit and spit but to still hold him. 

Steve had gone a bit too rough on cutting out food, and his body was paying for it. He felt awful, and he felt sick, just like he did with his old body. 

He had mixed feelings about it, and after a long talk, with puking in-between, with Bruce, he accepted the possibility he may need some help. 

 

~ 

 

Steve leaned into Bucky's shoulder, pressing hard. He wanted to feel Bucky's body against his, in the worst and best of ways, and he didn't really care what he thought about that at the moment. 

He was still recovering, his body trying to cycle through food it didn't have, and he felt bad all around. Still strong enough to punch someone, but not strong enough to do it over and over, like his new body was so good at. 

Bucky glanced down at him. With a sigh and a snarky smile, he reached over and placed a loose hand over Steve's. 

"I don't know what's with you lately, but you helped me through my shit so I'll help you through yours." Bucky breathed in slowly, then winked at him. "We're in this together, yeah?" 

Steve's throat went red. He nodded and his stomach jumped as Bucky squeezed his hand. He knew this was more than friendship, whatever they were doing right now, but he wouldn't worry about that right now. 

"Steve?" The therapist Bruce has scheduled for him called out from the entrance of the long hallway. 

Steve groaned, knowing this was going to be a long, and painful, talk. Bucky laughed quietly.

"I just want to be perfect, Bucky. Be what everyone wants America's Hero to be."

This was the first time Steve had admitted that out loud.

"Stevie," Bucky sighs. "You don't have to be perfect for you to be a good man, or a good hero."

Steve considered that as he stood. 

"Maybe."

Steve shook hands with the therapist, and followed him to the room. It was small, with a comfy couch. Paintings covered the walls, and footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor. 

Steve sat on the edge of the couch, then decided to lay down. As the therapist sat and prepared his notework, Steve thought about Bucky waiting patiently in a public place for him, which he hated doing now. Natasha was filled in by Bruce, with Steve's permission, and was preparing a small supper to get him eating properly again. Bruce was awaiting news on the meeting, taking time out of his day to make sure he was alright. Tony was oblivious to anything but his coffee, and so was Clint, Thor, and Fury. 

Steve sighed, and at the gesture of the therapist, started talking.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk I kinda feel like this is trash and it ended up jumbled and bad BUT what you gonna do :')


End file.
